The older Sorcha shook herself free of the memory with as much difficulty as she had escaped her first experience with her own Center. She licked her dry lips and eased herself back into the chair slowly. It had been a very bad day for Rictun, and she certainly felt sorry for him—something she never would have believed possible. That buried memory explained much.
She wondered where he was now. Was he even alive for her to apologize to? The old Sorcha, the one who had stood before Merrick and scoffed at his age and inexperience, would never have contemplated doing such a thing. Now, she realized she had, by accident, done something terrible, but Pareth had done something even worse—deliberately.
So will you, the Wrayth crooned. You will go back to Vermillion.
The geistlord within her was yearning for the Maker of Ways to tear open reality, to allow the geists full access to the human realm. And once the geists started pouring into this world, the Wrayth could draw them into its hive mind. It wanted her to stitch them into itself, making it more powerful than any other geistlord.
While Sorcha shivered at the prospect, the busy little mind of her father’s master delighted in it.
For a long moment she imagined what their world would be like. The Circle of Stars, the geistlords and the Wrayth would fight for control of the ravaged human population. The people left alive would be just farmed animals for all of them. It was the grand catastrophe that the Ehtia had feared so much they had sacrificed their own lives in the human realm. They had fled in the face of it.
Sorcha smiled grimly. Derodak’s followers in the Circle of Stars could not imagine the horror it would unleash and how unlikely it was that they could control it. Derodak had spent centuries growing arrogant and more self-assured—it would all come undone when he finally experienced a breach in the worlds.
So all that stands against it is you and your little band? the Wrayth voices, dry and hurtful, murmured. You can’t even control yourself, how can you possibly imagine stopping all this?
Sorcha closed her eyes, hearing the voices but trying not to listen. Instead she summoned up the memories of her mother—scant as they were—to give her strength. Still, what little she had been able to see when she shared her mother’s mind, she used as a goad on herself. Sorcha’s hands clenched on the arms of the chair, and the wood ground into her flesh. If she did not pull this new Order together, then that would be all humanity’s fate: nothing but breeders and food for the undead.
She had to find out what the Circle of Stars were doing. Their hunt for the Patternmaker of the Native Order had come to nothing. None of the runes seemed able to pierce that particular mystery. Merrick’s prescience might be terrifying, but not exactly helpful when it came to specifics. His use of runes had brought them to the right place to make a spectacle, but that could not be relied on in the next step.
Sorcha Faris, Harbinger of the Enlightened surged to her feet. It was time for a hunt.
She shoved the doors of the mayor’s office open. They swung far easier than she had thought and slammed into the walls on either side with a tremendous crash. The people who had been bustling to and fro in the hallway jumped. Sorcha saw not just respect in their eyes but a little fear as well. Deacons and folk she had known for years now looked at her differently. The new title she had chosen had not apparently been a reassuring one.
Merrick, who had been sitting across from the mayor’s office, got abruptly to his feet. He pulled his silver fur cloak around himself and walked over to where she stood. His brown eyes were troubled, but his mind, which she felt along the Bond, was as stalwart as ever.
“We need to find a geist,” Sorcha said, taking him by the elbow and guiding him down the hallway and toward the front door—not allowing him to argue in front of everyone. Perhaps pulling her partner out the door wasn’t good for their new image, but after the night before’s display, Sorcha thought she had some leeway on that.
“Very inconvenient then,” Merrick said, shooting her a thin smile, “considering that you just destroyed all of the ones in the city.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t have much time to stop and think.” The blur of the confrontation outside the town hall was something that she still had to sort through. Reaching out to the geists had seemed so very easy. Like a sword removed from its sheath, she had known just what to do.
Sorcha cleared her throat, and jerked her mind away from contemplating that at present. “But nevertheless, we need a geist.”
They stepped out into the sunshine and blinked at its brightness. Sorcha even tilted her head back and enjoyed the feel of it on her face. The damage to the city was intense; everywhere broken buildings poked from among the untouched like scorched trees in the forest. While the smell of death would take much time to clear, it still smelled better than it had yesterday. A kindly wind had wafted away much of the stench.
“You and I need to travel,” Sorcha said, as firmly as she could manage. Now it was his turn to lead her.
Somehow, remarkably the public stables had survived, and it was here that the Order had brought the Breed horses. When they entered, Sorcha’s gaze traveled over the remains of that bright creation of the Order of the Eye and the Fist. Seven stallions and twenty-three mares were all that remained. Much like the Deacons, they had been badly damaged.
Still, her heart lifted a bit when a familiar long nose poked over the stall door and snuffled at her cloak. Shedryi, the tall black stallion, as old as he was, had come away from the scourging of the Mother Abbey with not a scratch on him. A young lay Brother had ridden him out before the flames reached the stables. Melochi, the mare that Merrick favored, was in the stall next to him.
Merrick fished out a sugar cube and fed it to her. That simple pleasure of a horse’s gentle mouth on his open palm made him smile. Her young partner had precious few reasons to really smile of late.
Shedryi turned one accusing dark eye on Sorcha, since she had brought no treat. “Here,” Merrick said, reaching across and dropping one into her hand. “I found a few down in the kitchens.”
Shedryi gobbled his treat and then threw his head up with a snort. “Yes, indeed, we are going on a little ride, you wicked boy,” Sorcha said, rubbing his smooth neck. Glancing across at Merrick she asked, “Any sign of Raed yet?”
Taking a bridle down from the wall, Merrick shook his head. “Aachon said he wanted to be sure all the geists had gone before he came back. He should turn up soon.”
Sorcha shrugged. She was not worried about her lover, he was no dog on a leash, and besides any who threatened him would feel the wrath of the Rossin. She understood that sometimes the Young Pretender needed his space—he too had dark shadows to wrestle with.
Unlike in the Mother Abbey, the Deacons saddled up their own mounts—lay Brothers were far too busy to tend to the whims of the Active or Sensitive. Sorcha didn’t mind. In fact, she thought this new Order of Enlightenment would be better served if the Deacons of it knew a little of what the Brothers of the gray cloaks went through.
Merrick mounted up with alacrity, once again making Sorcha’s bones feel very old. “So, where to?” he asked.
Her partner looked positively elated to be on horseback again, so he was not going to like her reply. “Any direction . . . we just have to get out of the city to find a geist. It shouldn’t take long or far.”
Merrick rode Melochi out into the yard, while Sorcha saddled the stallion. Shedryi turned and tried to nip at her as she tightened the cinch on him—however when she slapped him on the rump, he settled down. Soon she too was mounted, and with a little nudge of the stirrups, they trotted out of the stable and into the city.